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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27948092">War Stories</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDoodle/pseuds/MissDoodle'>MissDoodle</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Stargazing [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>But especially Autobots, Dirty Dirty Autobots, Humor, Implied Past Sticky, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Sexual Humor, Starscream is hot and Wheeljack is in denial, Unresolved Sexual Tension, everyone on Cybertron is horny, like a lot, literally everybody is having fuck but Wheeljack</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:33:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,719</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27948092</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDoodle/pseuds/MissDoodle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sideswipe was not an easy Bot to turn down. He was no Rodimus, but he did have a certain youthful charm that was often put to good use talking other bots into making terrible decisions. </p><p>--</p><p>In which Wheeljack learns the awful truth that all of his friends are horny</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Starscream/Wheeljack (implied)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Stargazing [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027054</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>War Stories</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you again to Fae, my Beta. What would I do without you cleaning up my horrible horrible grammar.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wheeljack’s first instinct upon receiving the invite from Sideswipe was to decline. He was busy. There was work to do, and there would <em> always </em>be work to do, so long as they wanted to keep Iacon from falling to pieces. They’d come a long way since the war’s end. Wheeljack was no longer convinced that the city would collapse under a slight breeze or spontaneously combust into a hellish inferno for no apparent reason. It was a start, but building a functional society from the ground up with limited resources wasn’t something you accomplished in just a few months. Or even decades. </p><p>But Sideswipe was not an easy Bot to turn down. He was no Rodimus, but he did have a certain youthful charm that was often put to good use talking other bots into making terrible decisions. This was how Wheeljack found himself back at Blurr’s on a weekday afternoon. The fellow Speedster had all but twisted his arm to get him there, but Wheeljack decided, after thrice having his work literally blow up in his face, that taking a step back from his responsibilities (just this once) could only be a net positive. </p><p>In any case, he hadn’t left <em> that </em> early. Sideswipe and the others had agreed to meet in the late afternoon to beat the crowds. However, by the time Wheeljack arrived, they’d already been there for over an hour, and the late afternoon was rapidly approaching the early evening. </p><p>Ironhide was the first to spot him. He flashed the speedster a grin and waved him over,  “Look who finally crawled outta his lab. We saved a seat for ya.” </p><p>The group was seated in one of those semi-circular booths that lined the back wall. Sideswipe was in the middle. At his right was Ironhide, and to his left were Cliffjumper and another Bot Wheeljack recognized, but struggled to name. He was one of Blaster’s siblings—was it Blister? No, Bluster, it was definitely Bluster.  </p><p>Wheeljack took a seat next to Ironhide. This gave him the dual advantage of being as far from Sideswipe as possible and having unobstructed access to an escape route should the situation go south. Situations involving Sideswipe and Engex tended to go south fairly quickly, and the bot was already a full pint deep. </p><p>The three had been playing a card game before he arrived. Playing cards were a human invention, and one of the few holdovers from the war that didn’t involve crippling PTSD or the dregs of a defunct military run amok. First adopted by Autobots stationed on Earth, they’d since been embraced by non combatants, and even a growing number of Decepticons. Much like drag racing, target shooting, and good old fashioned fist fighting, it now ranked among the best loved Cybertronian pastimes. Especially among the gambling sort. </p><p>On Earth, Sideswipe had fashioned himself a deck from some spare paint and a flimsy organic material known as cardboard. He must have upgraded at some point though, because this new deck was printed on thin but sturdy sheets of metal. Wheeljack took a moment to admire the craftsmanship while examining one of the <em> face cards. </em>Traditionally, a face card would depict figures of royalty. Cybertron had no royalty, so they did the next best thing. The King card, being the second most valuable card in the deck, had been delegated to Optimus Prime. The Queen card, directly subordinate to the King, was instead a portrait of Ultra Magnus. </p><p>The third face card, to Wheeljack’s astonishment, depicted a Bot which looked suspiciously like himself. He took one of them from the table before Sideswipe could slide it back into the deck and examined it, disbelieving. </p><p>“Is this supposed to be me?”</p><p>Sideswipe plucked the card from his servo and looked it over with pride, “Yeah! I mean, it’s the Jack card, so I figured, y’know, Wheeljack.”</p><p>“Ah… it’s a pun,” Wheeljack said flatly. Whatever sense of flattery he’d felt instantly left him. </p><p>“I commissioned them from an artisan on Troja Major. It’s a good likeness, don’t you think?” Sideswipe flipped the card back around so it could be properly admired. </p><p>“Yeah, Swipes,” Wheeljack forced a smile, “I’m really honored.” </p><p>“Wait, it gets better!” Sideswipe slipped the Jack card back into the deck and shuffled around until he found what he was looking for. The card he held up next was a depiction of Prowl. It was spot on, but for one exception, the inclusion of a bizarre and colorful headpiece with three long horn-like protrusions. It took a moment, but Wheeljack finally recognized it for what it was. </p><p>“You made Prowl the Joker?” He tried not to sound too amused. Prowl might have been a cranky and humorless pain in the aft, but he was still a fellow Autobot. </p><p>Sideswipe chuckled, clearly very pleased with himself. He gathered up his cards and stashed them just as Blurr came zipping by their table with another round of drinks. The racer flashed Wheeljack one of his famous camera-ready smiles. </p><p>“Heya, Jackie!” He beamed. “Didn't expect to see you back here so soon.” </p><p>It suddenly occurred to Wheeljack that Blurr had likely seen him in Starscream’s company on the night of certain <em> events. </em> Whether or not he’d seen anything incriminating was anyone’s guess; but if this were the case, Blurr made no indication of it. </p><p>Wheeljack made a point of avoiding eye contact, focusing instead on the holographic menu he’d be given. Finally he said, “Just a regular Energon for me,” and, without looking up, handed the menu back to Blurr. </p><p>This received a chorus of jeers from the table. </p><p>“Don’t listen to ‘em, Blurr,” Sideswipe interjected, and before Wheeljack could say otherwise, ordered a pint of Engex on his behalf. </p><p>“And bring us a basket of alkaline clusters,” Bluster added, “Actually, make it two!” </p><p>Blurr returned with everything less than a minute later. Wheeljack pulled his pint towards himself as the rest of the group helped themselves to the alkaline clusters, still warm and mouthwateringly fragrant. Wheeljack had forgotten just how soothing the smell of freshly smelted metals could be. He’d have to snag one of those clusters before they were gone. </p><p>Wheeljack was always hesitant to remove his mask in public. He knew the scars underneath it were nothing to be ashamed of. Hell, they weren’t even that bad. They certainly wouldn’t make much of an impression on bots like Ironhide who’d been on the front lines and seen a mech's faceplate torn clean off by fragmentation grenades. Besides, all but one of the Mechs at the table had already seen what was under the mask. </p><p>“So, Jackie, how’s life in the Tower of Doom?” said Ironhide. </p><p>Wheeljack looked down at his Engex. “It’s really not that bad. Kinda stressful, but what else is new?” </p><p>Stressful didn’t quite cover it. Stressful had been when he was preoccupied with keeping Iacon in working order. What he’d been dealing with for the past week was far worse. Ever since their… <em> coupling, </em>Wheeljack had been doing his best to avoid Starscream when possible, which it hardly ever was. Mercifully, the Seeker had made no attempt to discuss the events of that evening, not that either of them really remembered it. Although, his silence wasn’t necessarily a good thing. He could easily be holding his cards until the need for blackmail presented itself. Extortion had always been at the forefront of Starscream’s arsenal when it came to getting what he wanted. </p><p>“I couldn’t do it,” said Cliffjumper, “Working with Starscream, I mean. How do you stay sane?” </p><p>Wheeljack vented heavily, tilting his helm back to look at the ceiling, “I honestly couldn’t tell ya. But I guess… I just try to focus on what needs to be done. At the end of the day, the only thing that matters is Cybertron.” </p><p>Cliffjumper snickered and lifted his glass in a mock toast, “Well, enjoy it while it lasts. With that crazy glitch in charge, it’s only a matter of time before we all get blown up.” </p><p>Without his mask to hide it, Wheeljack was painfully conscious of the disgruntled sneer he gave in response, “I know the guy isn’t exactly a saint,” he said. “Trust me, having to deal with him day in and out, it’s the worst. You think I don’t wanna deck him half the time? ‘Course I do. But all that aside, I think he’s honestly trying. This is his planet, too. Gotta assume he wants it to stay in one piece.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Ironhide rumbled. His expression bellied something Wheeljack couldn't exactly place. It was something between disapproval and pity. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were startin’ to like the guy.” </p><p>Wheeljack felt he should contest that, but the most he could do was shrug. He was tired. He didn’t have the energy for another pointless argument. It should be a given that he didn’t like Starscream. No one did. With enough effort and an astonishing level of patience, some might come to tolerate him. For better or worse, Wheeljack was now one of those people.</p><p>It took another swig of Engex for the Speedster to find his voice again. “I’m just trying to look on the bright side. It's not like there’s any use tryin’ to fight him. He was elected to do a job, and he’s doing that job. Doesn’t matter if we like the guy as long as Cybertron gets back in working order. Anyway, it’s not like he’s got a blank check to do whatever he wants. Not with the whole planet watchin’ his every move. And if Optimus is willing to work with him, then the least we can do is try.” </p><p>Playing the <em> Optimus Card </em> could be considered a bit of a cop out in this instance, but Wheeljack had no intention of letting the topic of Starscream dominate his evening. There was no better way to bring all opposing arguments to a screeching halt than invoking the sanctimonious power of Optimus Prime.</p><p>“Listen, I didn’t come here to talk about work,” Wheeljack pressed on before the awkward silence could settle in, “Tell me about what’s goin’ on with you guys. How’s life on New Cybertron? Feels like it’s been forever since any of us just got together and talked.” </p><p>“I’m thinking of starting a radio broadcast,” said Bluster, “Everybody thinks Blaster’s the audio MVP of the family, but they're wrong. I just haven’t had my chance to shine. I figure now’s the time.”</p><p>“What sort of broadcast?”</p><p>“Talk show. I’ll be interviewing a new guest every week. Maybe I’ll even interview you some time, Jackie. You can dish on what it’s like working for Screamer. People would eat that scrap right up.”</p><p>Wheeljack made a conscious effort not to let his discomfort show this time. “I don’t know…”</p><p>“Ease off,” Ironhide cut in, glaring across the table at Bluster with tangible disapproval, “He said he didn’t wanna talk about it tonight.” </p><p>Bluster immediately sank back in his seat and murmured, “Sorry.”</p><p>Another awkward silence appeared imminent. This time it was Cliffjumper who came to the rescue. </p><p>“You fellas wanna hit the dartboard?” </p><p>Unlike playing cards, darts had been a beloved pastime of Cybertronian barflies well before making contact with Earth. The practice of throwing sharp objects at things was as old as time immemorial, and was a custom held precious by all races, mechanical or otherwise. </p><p>Though the basic premise was the same, there were only a few cosmetic differences between Human Darts and the Cybertronian variant. Cybertronians predominantly used magnetic Darts, and the boards themselves were whatever sections of the wall that’d had been marked off as the designated targets. Magnetic darts, though they lacked a certain <em> je ne sais quoi </em>championed by their analogue counterparts, were far less likely to damage the finish on your wall or punch a hole in the hull of your ship should someone miss the target with too much enthusiasm. You were also far less likely to put someone’s eye out.</p><p>Perhaps that was the appeal of organic darts? The notion that you may do some genuine damage should the game go horribly—some might say hilariously—wrong.</p><p>It was unsurprising, if not in poor taste, that someone had taken the liberty of decorating the target wall with likenesses of certain universally loathed Cybertronians. There was Zeta Prime, Sentinel Prime, Megatron, a few infamous Functionists, some of the more hated Senators, and of course, Starscream in all his ostentatious glory. </p><p>Ironhide rented a set of darts for the group. When Blurr’s had first opened, the darts were left out for anyone to play at their leisure, but as patrons kept absconding with them, Blurr made the executive decision to keep them behind the bar from that point on. Ironhide handed everyone their darts and it was unanimously decided that Wheeljack should have the first throw. It had also been decided that his target simply had to be Starscream. </p><p>“Come on, Jackie!” Cliffjumper nudged him with an elbow, “Put one right between his eyes!”</p><p>Why, Primus, did it always come back to Starscream?</p><p>After much prodding from the others, Wheeljack finally took aim. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d played darts, only that he’d been poor at it. Throwing a dart was nothing like aiming a blaster, there were different variables to take into account, variables he was already slightly too buzzed to distinguish, let alone calculate. </p><p>The others had started to chant in support. Wheeljack tried his best to block them out (he’d forgotten the command for muting his audials) and focus on the throw. He was aiming to miss, but not by too wide a margin. If he did this right, he could avoid hitting Starscream while just barely landing one on the image of Megatron beside him. </p><p>“Alright, alright, I’m gonna do it. Everybody, keep your pedes on.” </p><p>The group fell silent in anticipation. Wheeljack made his final calculations, drew back his servo, and sent the dart flying. Immediately he knew he’d blown it. There had been a minute yet fatal hesitation between the moment he extended his arm and the moment the dart left his servo. With a <em> thunk </em>, it hit Starscream dead center in the chassis. </p><p>The three Bots beside him erupted in cheers. Ironhide gave him a congratulatory clap on the shoulder and Wheeljack forced a smile. </p><p>“Boom!” hollered Sideswipe, pumping a fist in the air. “Right in the spark! Nice one, Jackie! That’s a hundred points right off the bat!” </p><p>The rest of the game went as expected. Ironhide, the most seasoned player, managed to put a dart in the helm of just about every figure on the board, giving him an overwhelming lead. Sideswipe easily came in second. It had been his strategy to attack a new and exciting part of Megatron’s anatomy with each turn, starting with the optics. Bluster, once firmly in last place, had overtaken Wheeljack’s score with a wholly accidental, but no less entertaining, shot to Sentinel Prime’s groin. </p><p>After darts, they returned to their booth for another round of drinks. Sideswipe pulled out his deck again, and for what was apparently the second time, attempted to explain the rules of a Human game called ‘Mao’, which proved no less impossible this time than it had the first. They eventually settled for a far simpler game called ‘B.S’, with which everyone but Wheeljack was already familiar. </p><p>The objective of the game was to rid oneself of all the cards in their hand. The first player to do so would be declared the winner. The game required little in the way of strategy or skill, save for the ability to count from one to ten, and to bluff without getting caught. For someone like Rodimus, this would’ve been a cakewalk. For Wheeljack, it was just embarrassing. </p><p>In accordance with the rules of the game, Ironhide, being the oldest player, had the first turn. He pulled a card from his hand, and placed it face down on the table. “One Ace.” </p><p>Sideswipe was next. He placed one card face down. “One Two.”</p><p>After this was Cliffjumper with two Threes, Bluster with a Four, Wheeljack with two fives, and so on.   </p><p>Conversation resumed after a few rounds. They talked about their lives, future plans, if any, and the various things they did to cope with the rapidly changing landscape of Cybertronian life. </p><p>Bluster was by far the most well adjusted, but that was to be expected of someone who’d rarely, if ever, seen actual combat. He’d been a Communications Technician, one of many. The job of a Comms Technician had been maintaining the integrity and security of all Autobot frequencies. It had been important work, if far from glamorous. </p><p>“Hey Swipes,” Cliffjumper had noticed Sideswipe making eyes at a Mech lounging near the bar, “That a friend of yours?” </p><p>“Nah, but I’d sure love to change that.” Sideswipe kept his optics on the stranger, looking away only when it was time to pull another card from his hand. “Been on the lookout for a nice piece of aft.”</p><p>Bluster groaned, “Ugh, I haven’t had a good frag in years.” </p><p>“You know who gives a good frag?” Sideswipe paused briefly to watch Cliffjumper place two cards atop the pile, then continued. “That guy Springer. You know, turns into a chopper? Green paint job?” </p><p><em> Ah </em> , thought Wheeljack, <em> So that’s where we’re headed, is it? </em>He supposed it’d only been a matter of time before someone brought fragging into the conversation. It’d been foolish of him to hope otherwise. </p><p>Bluster was up next. The card had barely left his servo when Ironhide grunted, “Bullscrap”.</p><p>Grumbling, Bluster turned his card over, revealing a Three whereas the next card in the sequence ought to have been a Seven. Caught, he had no choice but to take the deck, tripling his card count and landing him again in last place. </p><p>“Springer’s okay,” he said, shrugging, “If it’s a real good frag you’re after, you gotta go with Slamdance. I never had the pleasure myself, but I heard from a reliable source that he’s just about the best lay on Cybertron.”</p><p>“Did this ‘reliable source’ happen to be related to you?” asked Sideswipe, giving a coy smile. </p><p>“No!” Bluster pursed his lips and looked down at his servos, then conceded, “...yes.”</p><p>“I knew Blaster was a slut,” Sideswipe chortled victoriously. “He’s wrong though. The best frag on Cybertron is me, obviously.” </p><p>Ironhide set down his Engex firmly and cleared his throat, drawing the attention of every Bot at the table, “You’re both wrong.” </p><p>He went on to explain that in his ‘expert’ opinion, the best lay on Cybertron was a little known Mech named Grinder who’d frequented the darkest and grimiest dives of pre-war Kaon. Grinder, he claimed, had been a minor celebrity in Kaon’s pleasure district, having been both the instigator and winner of more bar fights than any Cybertronian, living or dead. It had been Grinder’s custom to then consecrate the freshly trashed venue with some vigorous and incredibly public fragging. Not that Ironhide had fragged him in public. He did have some shred of decency, after all. </p><p>The conversation went steadily downhill from here. Cliffjumper weighed in next with a downright pornographic account of his tryst with Mirage. How the Mech’s cloaking system had started to glitch as he edged towards overload. How he changed color, changed faces, and at one point had even gone completely invisible. But the image that lingered in Wheeljack's mind, however much he didn’t want it there, was Cliffjumper’s description of the moment he looked down and saw his own frame writhing beneath him. </p><p>It was all pretty foul, and made intimately worse by the sight of Cliffjumper speaking through mouthfuls of alkaline clusters. </p><p>“Sounds like a total mindfrag,” said Bluster, reaching over to steal a cluster from Cliffjumper’s plate. The minibot swatted at him, but not quickly enough. Bluster had already crammed the treat into his mouth. </p><p>“A little bit,” Cliffjumper gave the other Bot a playful punch in the arm, then soothed himself with a gulp of Engex. “But, if I’m being honest, it was actually kinda hot.” </p><p>At that moment, Wheeljack knew he would never look at Cliffjumper the same way again. Or Mirage. Or pretty much half of everyone he’d ever met up until that point. </p><p>“It’s getting late, guys,” Wheeljack felt a sudden urge to distance himself. He reached into his subspace and placed a few shanix on the table, “I should probably head out.”</p><p>The Speedster didn’t get half way out of his seat before Ironhide planted a heavy servo on his shoulder and forced him to sit back down. </p><p>“Come on, Jack, when’s the last time you let yourself cut loose? You’ve been workin’ yourself to death. Take it easy for just one night, yeah? At least finish your Engex before you go.” </p><p>Sitting on the table was the half empty pint of Engex. Wheeljack glanced at it, then at the face of the four Mechs now watching him expectantly. As he weighed his options, his processor reminded him that nothing good could possibly come of staying out till all hours with a band of overcharged Autobots. </p><p>“Eh… alright.” Wheeljack grabbed his pint and emptied the glass in one go. If he had to sit and listen to everyone drone on about their sex lives, he might as well get a decent buzz going. Maybe he could smudge out the worst of it. </p><p>“There’s a good Bot,” Ironhide gave Wheeljack a hearty pat on the back. </p><p>Sideswipe stood and called for Blurr to bring them all another round. This time, when the drinks came, Wheeljack didn’t hesitate to throw back a few mouthfuls. Being that he was such a spectacular lightweight, it wouldn’t take long for a lovely, numbing fog to settle in his processor. </p><p>“I fragged that one mech, Huffer.” It was now Bluster’s turn to dish, “You know, with the goggles?”</p><p>His optics were looking a bit brighter than they had a few minutes ago, one of the more noticable indicators of overcharge. Given that he was a Mech of average size with a non-vehicular alt mode, it wouldn’t be long before he was slurring his words. </p><p>“Doesn’t make much of an impression when you first meet him,” he continued, “But he’s a damn freak in berth. Total slut, too. He’s fragged more Autobots than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s probably fragged one of you, for all I know.” </p><p>Sideswipe lifted a servo, grinning like an idiot. “Guilty.” He, too, was starting to show the first signs of overcharge. </p><p>Wheeljack only vaguely remembered Huffer. He had been one of the Bots stationed on Earth, and the only thing of note about him was his relentless pessimism. As of now, he was aboard the Lost Light, and if Bluster’s allegations were true, he’d probably fragged half the crew by now. Thank Primus they had Cybertron’s best medic on hand.</p><p>As he reached the bottom of his second pint, Wheeljack began to consider that he may owe Starscream an apology. What right did he have to judge the Seeker, or any Decepticon, on their interfacing habits when the Autobots had been fragging each other left and right at the exact same time? It was none of his concern, of course. What happened between two (or more) consenting Mechs was no one’s business but their own. If Sideswipe and the others wanted to frag their way through the Autobot ranks, that was their prerogative. And Wheeljack was not naive enough to believe that a Mech must be madly in love to want to frag someone. Regular interfacing, casual or otherwise, was even maintained by certain medical authorities to be good for a Mech’s health, provided the appropriate caution was exercised. </p><p>What Wheeljack couldn't understand was how they’d all found the time. Were they fondling one another under the table in the mess hall? Doing quickies out on patrol? In the Barracks when everyone else was sleeping? </p><p>The speedster shuddered, remembering more than one occasion where the sound of hushed whispers and rustling sheets disturbed his recharge. He’d thought little of it at the time, but now…</p><p>He could feel nausea starting to fizzle in his fuel tanks. The Alkaline clusters rapidly cooling on his plate no longer looked appetizing. Wheeljack had now officially lost his appetite. Maybe forever. </p><p>It had nothing to do with being prude. Wheeljack was not a prude. At least he didn’t consider himself one, even if everyone who knew him disagreed. He’d had his flings here and there, most of them during his Academy days. He’d been in his youth then, and had the boundless energy and poor judgement that came with it. Some of these encounters he remembered fondly, others had been blatant mistakes, though he couldn’t say he entirely regretted them. As he understood it, this was the near universal experience for newly matured Mechs. Incessant urges, reckless flirtations, and very little self restraint. </p><p>A Mech was supposed to grow out of that sort of thing. Wheeljack had, but evidently, many of his colleagues hadn’t. </p><p>Another round of drinks appeared on the table. By this time, the other four had upgraded from standard draft beverages to something infinitely more potent. They’d long since forgotten about the game and cards were now strewn haphazardly across the table. A good number had ended up on the floor. </p><p>“Wanna know something crazy?” Sideswipe was audibly slurring by this point. Once he was sure he had everyone's attention, he continued in a low, secretive voice, “I fragged a Con.” </p><p>Cliffjumper snorted in disbelief, “No you didn’t.” </p><p>“Oh yes I did,” Sideswipe looked genuinely insulted.“And I don’t mean some nobody Genericon. I’m talking about a heavy hitter. I fragged a Seeker.” </p><p>Wheeljack’s grip tightened around his pint of Engex. He feared the worst. </p><p>“<em> Ffft </em>. No slaggin’ way did you frag a Seeker,'' It was Bluster this time. He jabbed an accusatory finger in Sideswipe’s direction, and in the same gesture spilled about two thirds of his drink onto the table and spilled the remaining third onto Cliffjumper. </p><p>“Yes, way. Mech named Hotlink. He had a red and black paint job, nice big turbines, and what was possibly the sweetest aft I have ever seen,” Sideswipe grinned, his optics flashing bright with overcharge, “He had a pretty nice spike, too. Not the best, but it’s a contender alright.” </p><p>“What was it like?”  Cliffjumper had fetched a rag from his subspace to dab at a stain of neon pink Engex spattered across his chassis. Bluster attempted to help, but overcharge had significantly impacted his coordination and motor skills. Cliffjumper had to shove him off before he could make things any worse. “Did it live up to the hype?” </p><p>Sideswipe leaned back against his seat and kicked his pedes up onto the table, “Well, I wouldn’t call it mind blowing, but it was still pretty damn sweet all the same. I’ll bet you anything he was a fragbot before the war. Think he’s got a thing for fraggin’ good guys too, cause according to him, I was the seventh Autobot he’d hooked up with that month. Sunstreaker became number eight that very same evening. I would know. I got to watch.” </p><p>Ironhide had been suspiciously quiet as Sideswipe relayed his tale of cross faction fraternization. Wheeljack wondered if he’d finally reached his limit. Maybe fragging the enemy was a perversion he simply could not condone. When the old Mech uncrossed his arms and straightened in his seat, Wheeljack fully expected that a gruff lecture would be forthcoming. Instead, Ironhide chuckled. </p><p>“I'm sure this Mech a’yers was a looker, but I can do you one better,” he leaned in close, smirking as though he were about to tell them he’d spiked Megatron himself, “I fragged Starscream.”</p><p>Wheeljack had picked the exact wrong moment to start on a new pint of Engex. He lurched forward and spat up a mouthful of pink foam back into his glass. Luckily, no one noticed, or at the very least no one felt inclined to comment on it. </p><p>“This was way back before the war. Few centuries before the Cons officially graduated from a bunch’a fringe radicals to full on terrorists. I was workin’ SecOps at the time, and we got a lead on this group that was moving illegal firearms on the blackmarket.</p><p>“We spent months planning for a sting operation. Ended up busting about forty Mechs in all. Grounders, mostly, but there were a handful’a fliers there that night. Most of ‘em got away. Starscream might’a gotten away, too, if he hadn’t had me on his trail. Nicked one’s his thrusters with my blaster. Slowed em down quite a bit, even so I nearly fried my engine tryin’a keep up. I got em though. Tackled that slippery fragger right outta the sky.” </p><p>“What was Starscream doing there?” Wheeljack couldn't help himself. He had to know. “He wasn’t dealing, was he?” </p><p>“Nah, he was buyin. Figure he was surin’ up weapons for the Decepticons, but we didn’t know that at the time. This was before the Cons had started makin' waves, mind you. Most people hadn't even heard of em, yet.” Ironhide took a moment to drain his glass. “Now where was I?”</p><p>“You’d just body slammed him outta the sky”, said Cliffjumper. </p><p>“Ah, right. Anyway, we ended up goin’ through the roof of some run down building on the south side of Kaon. Pinned ‘em, cuffed ‘em, was all ready to haul ‘em back to base. Probably should’a called for back up, but beleive it or not, I, too, was once  just as young stupid as any’a you lunkheads. I thought, Hell, one little Seeker? I can handle that.</p><p>“But we’re talkin Starscream here. He might’a been some lowlife nobody at the time, but he was just as crafty. Just as pretty, too. </p><p>“He started usin’ that pretty mouth’a his. Talkin’ about all the things he’d let me do if only I’d loosen those cuffs a bit. Now, I wasn’t fallin’ for it at first. I’d had plenty’a perps try’n sweet talk their way outta trouble. But ain’t none of ‘em did what he started doin’. Started rubbin’ against me like some greased up whorebot, wings all flutterin’. I don’t know what it is about those wings that’re so dang hypnotizin’...” he trailed off as if remembering exactly how they’d looked that night. Those hypnotic wings. “Next thing I know we’re on the ground, and I’ll just let you imagine what happened from there.” </p><p>Wheeljack did imagine it, despite his best effort to think about literally anything else in the world. The Engex must have gone to his processor, because it wasn’t normally this hard to cast aside thoughts of a heated Seeker frame writhing on the cusp of overload. He looked up from the pint glass he’d been clutching for dear life, desperate for something to distract him. </p><p>By some obscene twist of fate, the very first thing to come into his line of sight was a pair of immaculate white wings. The Mech they belonged to was not a Seeker—too boxy, too large—but the red and white color scheme had him reeling with thoughts of Starscream all the same. </p><p>This flier was in the company of a handsome blue Mech with treads. A battle tank by the looks of it, and if the flier was large, then his companion was enormous. He had one massive servo resting on the flier’s hip. Wheeljack looked away, heat prickling across his faceplate when that servo dipped lower to squeeze the flier’s aft. </p><p>Ironhide had taken another brief intermission to call for Blurr. He’d finished his fifth pint that night, and was eager to make it six. Most grounders of his size started to get a buzz going by their third or fourth helping, but Ironhide was what the bartenders and mixologists of pre-war Cybertron had lovingly dubbed a ‘Fuel Guzzler’. A heavy duty Mech like him could put away a truly heroic amount of Engex before they got within even a mile of tipsy. </p><p>Trying to keep up with a Fuel Guzzler was generally discouraged for the average Mech. Bluster was one of these average Mechs, and he was currently face down in what remained of the basket of Alkaline clusters. Blurr noted this when he arrived at the table. </p><p>“You better wake him up or take him home.” His expression was deadly serious. “I mean it.”</p><p>Cliffjumper attempted to wake Bluster with a nudge to the shoulder. When this failed, Sideswipe chucked his own empty pint glass at the sleeping Mech’s helm. It shattered against his head, prompting an indignant shout from Blurr. Bluster snapped awake mid snore and blinked a few times to reset his optics. </p><p>“Nnnuh?” He looked around drowsily, “S’isnt my house…”</p><p>Blurr gave Sideswipe a murderous look, “I hope you know that’s showing up on your bill.”</p><p>Sideswipe waved a servo in dismissal, “Sure, sure, whatever. Jus’ get me another one.”</p><p>“Nope! You are officially cut off,” said Blurr, sweeping the bits of broken glass into his palm. He then gestured to Bluster, who was having bits of alkaline cluster plucked from his face by Cliffjumper, “And so is that one.” </p><p>The blue Speedster zipped off before either Bot could protest. Sideswipe stood and shouted after him, then fell back into a pout when Blurr made no move to acknowledge this. Sideswipe muttering some choice words under his breath before he looked over to Ironhide.</p><p>“So, back to you fragging Starscream. You were just getting to the good part. Don’t you dare skimp on the details, I need a pick-me-up.” </p><p>“Well, if you insist.” Ironhide shook his helm, but the grin was plain on his face. “So anyway, I get 'em up against a wall. He’s all revved up, I’m all revved up. His servo's are workin' my <em>personal bits, </em>and he's puttin' his glossa in places no self respectin' Mech outta. My guard is about as down as it can possibly get. Then the next thing I know my damn pede’s on fire and hurtin’ like a sonuva glitch. Crafty fragger kicked on his good thruster and damn near welded me to the floor. Can't recall much’a what happened next, but he got the jump on me. And don’t you ever believe what they say about Seekers being no good at close combat, ‘cause what they lack in brute force, they more than make up for by fightin’ dirty. I woke up a few hours later, handcuffed, missin’ my blaster and about half my face. Had to replace the whole thing.” </p><p>Sideswipe leaned back against the booth and scoffed, “So, what you’re saying is, you never actually fragged.” </p><p>“We fragged alright. Whatcha think I was doin’ with him up against that wall?” </p><p>“Getting fingerbanged in an dirty allyway by some lowlife isn't the same as a frag. You either spiked him or you didn't."</p><p>Ironhide appeared genuinely insulted, "First off, smartaft, <em>I</em> was the one doin the fingerbanging. And secondly, it does count. He overloaded."</p><p>“Oh, sure," Sideswipe made no effort to mask his sarcasm, "He was faking, idiot. Your dumb aft got played.” </p><p>"Did I get played? Absolutely. I wasn’t the brightest bulb back then.” Ironhide conceded with uncharacteristic grace. Then he kept going, “Was he faking it? Like scrap he was. You weren’t there. You didn’t see his face.” </p><p>“Oh yeah? Was it this face?” Sideswipe pulled a sultry face: brows taught above shouldering optics, his lips parted delicately. “Oh, Ironhide. Frag me, Ironhide! Yeah! Oh, you’re so big! Frag me! Frag me hard! Oh! Oh!” </p><p>Sideswipe went on making these and other deeply inappropriate sounds at an increasing volume, drawing looks from around the bar. Wheeljack turned away and covered his face with his servo. The horror finally came to an end when Ironhide leaned over and smacked Sideswipe on the back of his helm.</p><p>“Ow! What the frag!?”</p><p>"Quit makin’ an aft of yourself. Look, you've traumatized poor Wheeljack.”</p><p>“Oh, come on!” Cliffjumper chimed in, “You’ve seen your fair share of action, haven’t ya, Jackie?”</p><p>“I…” Wheeljack felt like a turbofox in the path of a ragging Dinobot, frozen in terror. “Well… I mean sure.” He refused to elaborate, and no force on Cybertron or any other planet could make him change his mind. Even if it hadn’t been Starscream, he was never one to make a spectacle of his intimate moments. It cheapened them. </p><p>Not that there was anything especially intimate about a drunken frag with a war criminal. </p><p>“Pfft, you liar,” Said Sideswipe. Having polished off his own Engex, he now reached for the pint Wheeljack had rejected. No effort was made to stop him. “I bet you haven’t had a decent frag since you graduated.” </p><p>Wheeljack couldn't argue, nor did he really care to. “So? I’ve been busy. Haven’t had a lot of time for relationships.”</p><p>“Relationships? Are you kidding?” Sideswipe gave him a look of pure condescension. “You know you don’t have to be conjunxed before you frag somebody, right? Did they not teach you that at the Academy?” </p><p>There came a sudden and powerful urge to smack the grin from Sideswipes’s face. Had he been a little less sober, Wheeljack might’ve succumbed to that urge.</p><p>“Whatever”, he mumbled, “it’s none if your buisness.” </p><p>Sideswipe appeared ready to challenge this, but whatever he’d planned to say was derailed by a sudden non sequitur from Bluster. </p><p>“Bet you they were fraggin.”</p><p>“Who was?” Sideswipe turned his attention to the Mech currently falling back into recharge against Cliffjumper’s shoulder. </p><p>Bluster yawned, optics shuttering as he cuddled the Minibot’s arm like a safety blanket. “Megs and Screamer. They--”, another yawn,“--totally fragged.” </p><p>“Was that not common knowledge?” Cliffjumper gave Bluster’s helm a gentle shove when it came too far into his personal space, “They’d prolly still be fragging if Megatron he weren’t floating around with that jackass, Rodimus, on the <em> Isle of Misfit Mechs </em>.” </p><p>Now there was a mental image Wheeljack didn’t need. Starscream pinned under several metric tons of Megatron. Moaning. Frame trembling. White wings rattling against the floor…</p><p>Wheeljack felt an electric charge run through his interface array and panicked. He hung his helm, sinking a little lower in his seat as he hoped to Primus no one sensed the spike of arousal in his EM feild. Ironhide did glance in his direction for a spark-stopping moment, but abruptly looked away again when he noticed Sideswipe making a go for his Engex. </p><p>Had he felt it? No, of course not. The logic center of Wheeljack’s processor, whatever part of it still functioned, assured him that Ironhide had only been drawn to the sound of his mask snapping back into place. That was definitely it. </p><p>“You think <em> they’re </em> fragging now?” Asked Sideswipe. He was pouting again, having been firmly scolded by Ironhide. “Roddy and Megatron, I mean. Beleive you me, if there’s an Autobot living who’d be dumb and horny enough to frag the Big M himself, it’d be Rodimus. Wouldn’t be the first time he fragged a Con. He was fragging Deadlock long before he switched sides.”</p><p>Wheeljack felt his fuel tank clench in abject disgust as the mental image of Starscream squirming under Megatron’s servos was supplanted with Rodimus. Whatever arousal he’d been feeling abruptly vanished, and for a few seconds, he was certain he would purge.</p><p>“Can we change the subject?” Wheeljack uttered what was unambiguously a half choked plea for mercy. </p><p>“Aw, what’s the matter, Jackie?” Sideswipe crooned in a mockingly sweet voice, “We making your prude aft uncomfortable?” </p><p>Bluster, having briefly regained consciousness, pointed and laughed. He then abruptly lurched forwards and moaned, servo clamped over his mouth, “Think m’gonna… gonna… uaghk!” He dry heaved before he could finish his sentence. </p><p>Cliffjumper gave him a pat on the back, then stood, hooking the larger Bot’s arm over his shoulders. “Gonna take him home.”</p><p>Seeing this as the perfect opportunity to bail, Wheeljack stood, “Lemme help you.”</p><p>“Nah, I got this,” said Cliffjumper. He then immediately tripped over his own pedes and toppled over, bringing Bluster down on top of him. </p><p>There was a beleaguered sigh as Ironhide set down his glass and stood. Large as he was, it took him a moment to shimmy out from the booth. Wheeljack used this time to drag Bluster’s limp frame from atop Cliffjumper. The minibot groaned, pushing himself up onto all fours. He’d scuffed the paint on his chassis, but was otherwise looking well for a Mech who’d just face planted onto a metal floor.</p><p>“Up you get.”  Ironhide reached down and lifted Cliffjumper onto his pedes with one servo. He then grasped Bluster by the collar of his chassis and slung the now thoroughly unconscious Bot over his shoulder with just as little effort. Glancing at Wheeljack, he said, “You two enjoy the rest a’yer night. I’ll see to it these ones make it home safe.” </p><p>After tossing a handful of Shanix onto the table, Ironhide stalked off with his charges. Wheeljack watched them, forlorn, as they disappeared into the crowd.</p><p>He should really be leaving himself. It was late, the bar was getting crowded, and Starscream could come swaggering in at any moment. Worst of all, he was now alone and defenceless at the drunken mercy of Sideswipe. He was doomed. </p><p>“Guess you’ll be calling it a night, too. Huh, Jackie?” </p><p>Wheeljack turned back to the table and saw Sideswipe gathering up his cards. “Yeah,” he said, “It’s late and—“</p><p>Sideswipe interrupted him, “And you got important work to do, yeah,yeah. I gotcha. Mind if I ask you somethin’ before you go?” </p><p>“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Wheeljack picked up a few stray cards from the floor and then slid back into the booth. Now that it was just the two of them, Sideswipe’s demeanor seemed to have shifted. Wheeljack became keenly aware of the other Bot’s EM field and felt the minute fluctuations of its presence. There was a growing sense of focus and intent. “What’s up?”</p><p>There was a brief silence as Sideswipe stashed the cards back into his subspace. He then fished around a bit until his servo re-emerged, clutching an object too small for Wheeljack to see from his side of the table. </p><p>“You’re a Wing Mech, right, Jackie?” He rested his servo on the table. The object remained concealed.</p><p>“Sorry?”</p><p>“You got a thing for Flightframes.” Sideswipe gestured towards the main bar, where the red and white Flier was still enjoying the company of his blue Mech. Their wandering servos had progressed to decidedly more intimate ministrations, “Saw you checking out that hottie at the bar. The hottie with the wings?” </p><p>“I wasn’t!” Wheeljack felt shame flaring through his EM field and immediately reigned it back. It was too late, though. Sideswipe had felt it. </p><p>The response from Sideswipe’s field was a wave of frustration, but this quickly softened into pity. “You know there’s nothing wrong with it, Jackie. You’re a Mech just like me, or Cliff, or anybody. I know you wanna uphold your honor or whatever, but the war’s over. You’re allowed to have a little fun.” </p><p>“I know, I just…” Wheeljack wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence without coming across like some kind of sappy idiot. What was he supposed to say? The thought of fragging a total stranger held little appeal to him. If he was going to become intimate with a Mech he wanted to at least know them, trust them, care for them. It didn’t need to be love, exactly. Primus, he wasn’t some lovelorn little sparkling. </p><p>“I think I know what your problem is,” Sideswipe continued, “And I can help.” </p><p>Wheeljack couldn’t fathom what this meant at first. Then a horrifying thought struck him. Was Sideswipe about to<em> ...proposition him!? </em></p><p>A spark deep dread ground every synapse in Wheeljack’s processor to a halt. He held up his servos, instinctively leaning away, “Swipes, buddy…” </p><p>How exactly was he supposed to word this? Was there a protocol for situations like these?</p><p>"Take this.” </p><p>To Wheeljack’s immense relief, Sideswipe’s next move was to place a small black object (the one he’d been hiding) on the table. It appeared to be a data slug. Wheeljack picked it up to examine it and noted the beaten up plastic casing. It was the cheap kind, the sort that could only store a few megabytes of data. </p><p>“What’s this for?” </p><p>“It’s from my personal collection,” said Sideswipe, “Consider it a gift.” </p><p>If there was one thing Wheeljack hated most, it was a vague answer. “But what is it?” </p><p>“Just a little something to help you along. Take the edge off. Give it a look when you get home tonight. I think you’ll like it.” </p><p>“But—“</p><p>“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Sideswipe got to his pedes, snapped up any unfinished pints still left in the table, and knocked them all back in quick succession, “I got a piece of aft to hunt down." He sidled out of the booth and started to leave, then stopped short, looking back over his shoulder, "Oh! And one last thing. Don't tell anybody you got that from me. Kay?"</p><p>The red Speedster didn’t wait for an answer. He went strutting through the crowd, making a b-line for the bar where that handsome Mech he’d set his sights on awaited. </p><p>Wheeljack sat in silence for a while, trying to make sense of where the evening had led him as he waited for the worst of the overcharge to pass. Blurr came by to offer one last Engex for the road, which Wheeljack politely declined. He settled his tab, left a generous tip, and once his processor had cleared, took his leave. Walking back to his apartment, he occasionally glanced down at the data slug clutched in his servo. Considering it’s dubious origins, he couldn’t imagine there was anything particularly wholesome under that beaten up plastic casing. It was almost certainly contraband. He should just get rid of it. Chuck it in the nearest waste bin. Keeping it meant running the risk of succumbing to his inante curiosity and Primus knew that had lead him to some unsavory places in the past.</p><p>Still...</p><p>Maybe just <em>one look</em> wouldn't hurt...</p>
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